His Trouble Maker

Chapter 67

JESSICA

| didn’t know why | was here anymore.

| stood on that cold stone floor, knees locked, jaw set, spine straining to hold together what little was left of me.

My face was blank, my chin tilted just enough to fake pride, because that was all | had. That, and a body trained

for war-even if the world had decided | was better off forgotten.

The arena was full now. Warriors lined the edges like shadows with sharp teeth. Blades at their hips. Bandages at

their throats. Eyes tracking movement like it meant survival. Sstretched in silence, others ran drills with

partners. But no one was really focused. Not until the doors opened.

A gust of cool air rolled through the room, slicing through the heat and the sweat and the whispers. Every sound

died.

Grayson stepped in first and the room reacted on instinct. Spines straightened. Conversations died mid-word.

Eyes dropped..

But it wasn’t him they were staring at.

It was the man beside him.

Goddess.

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He looked like Grayson-but ruined. Sharper. Hungrier. A twisted reflection, like someone had taken the bone

structure and charm of the Alpha and drowned it in sin.

Sjawline. Smouth.

But colder.

Filthier.

pla

Along, pale scar dragged down the left side of his face, cutting across his cheekbone and curling toward his

mouth.

| couldn’t look away.

He was terrifying.

Utterly, absolutely terrifying.

But there's something about him that makes you want to stay longer. Harder.

| hated the way my breath shook.

He’s Grayson’s brother. There's no more doubt about it. The longer I look at him the deeper | notice their

similarities and differences. It's amazing how they look familiar but not similar.

| hated that | noticed the line of his throat, the shape of his hands, the slow curve of his smirk like he knew

exactly how he made people flinch until his eyes foundand | couldn't fucking breathe.

His stare held and | am more frightened noticing how his eyes looks...no, that can’t be. | was so lost in my

thoughts | didn’t realized he was already walking. Riot didn’t stop until he was close enough to steal the breath

from my lungs.

“You must be Jessica...” Riot said, his voice low and smooth, dragging each syllable like he was tasting it. His

fingers found the end of my braid, and he twisted it around one finger, gentle and maddening. Up close, he was

almost too much to look at. “I've been dying to meet you.”

| didn’t understand why | wasn’t moving.

Why | wasn’t snapping at him, or stepping back, or demanding he stop looking atlike he'd already undressed

my instincts and laid claim to whatever

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Chapter 67

was left. Because ssick, splintered part ofwanted to know what he'd do next.

“W-why?”

He shrugged.

As if that was an answer.

As if he didn’t oweone.

He tilted his head, still twisting the braid. His thumb grazed the inside of my wrist like he'd tracked the tremor

there. He didn’t answer. He just smiled. And turned his head-just slightly. Looked past me. To ‘Grayson’.

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And | felt it before | saw it.

The shift.

The heat.

The breathless drop in pressure that cwhen an Alpha’s wolf stopped pretending to be leashed.

Slowly, carefully, | turned.

Grayson stood like a statue carved from fury. His posture hadn't changed, but everything about him was “alive”

now-coiled, twitching beneath the surface, his skin buzzing with the weight of his wolf.

His fists were clenched at his sides, hard enough that blood had started to gather at his knuckles. His chest rose

and fell in controlled rhythm, like he was trying to breathe around the instinct to kill.

But it was his eyes* that undid me.

No longer blue.

No longer human.

They glowed a molten red, low and wild, the scolor I'd seen in wolves just before they shifted to fight.

And those eyes were locked on Riot’s hand. On me.

“I want her,” Riot said again, each word a slow, deliberate spark dropped onto dry leaves. “You don’t mind, do

you?”

Silence snapped tight.

Then-

A sound ripped through the room that didn’t belong to any man.

A low, brutal growl echoed off the stone walls - not from Riot, not from me, but from Grayson. My head snapped

toward him just as it broke loose. The pack scattered before he even moved.

They didn’t run, but they stepped back. One by one, like instinct had taken hold and reminded them what it

meant to be prey. | stood frozen in the center of it all, every hair on my arms rising, every breath catching in my

throat like my body couldn't decide whether to fight, flee, or fall to my knees.

Grayson didn’t speak.

His wolf was clawing at the surface, dragging itself up, skin pulling too tight over bones that wanted to shift.

Muscles flexed beneath his shirt like they were tearing at the seams, and his entire body trembled, not from fear

- but from the agony of restraint.

He was “this close* to snapping.

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Chapter 67

To lunging.

To tearing Riot’s throat out with his teeth and painting the floor in blood. But Grayson didn’t give him what he

wanted.

Instead with visible, shaking effort - he exhaled once, long and harsh, chest rising like it hurt to breathe before

he uncurled his fingers, one by one slow it looked painful and then he turned.

We all watched as he walks away, letting the door slam with a growl of rusted hinges. | was still stuck processing

what had just happened when Riot leaned in, shoulder brushing mine, breath warm and humid against the shell

of my ear.

His hand tugged on the end of my braid-just enough to tilt my chin, to claim a fraction more of my body, like he

already owned it.

“Jealous boyfriend, | guess?” he murmured, so low it made my skin crawl.

A chill raced down my back. He was too close. Too solid beside me. His scent pressing in like heat. That scar-

visible now in my peripheral-twisting as he

smirked.

Then, louder now, for everyone to hear, he straightened up, still beside me, still too close, and said:

“Come, Jess. | want you to touraround.”

His tone was light. Almost playful.

“No.” | didn’t flinch when | said it even if | wanted to. “I’m not your damn tour guide,” | bit out, loud enough for

the room to hear. “And | don’t take orders from strangers.” He stilled beside me, just for a second. “Who the hell

even *are* you?” | demanded, the words sharp, almost spit.

Riot cocked his head, jaw ticking like he was weighing how much to give me. Then, with zero shand a tone

smooth enough to be a dare, he said, “I’m Riot, baby. But you can callAlpha, if you want.”

| barked a laugh.

Ugly. Abrasive.

For sunknown reason, | want him to get offended by me. “You're not my Alpha,” | said, barely above a

growl.

His eyes dragged across my face, slow and calculating, then dropped to my fists-still clenched, still shaking

slightly from how close he was standing. “You're a brat,” he said simply.

My head jerked like I'd been slapped. “Excuse me?”

The words cout too loud, echoing in the still-arena air. A few of the nearby warriors shifted where they

stood, watching us more openly now. Swith wide eyes. Swith smirks.

“You heard me,” he said, tone infuriatingly calm. “You talk big. But | don’t think you've realized what you are

yet.”

| took a step forward before | could stop myself. “I know “exactly* what | am.”

He raised one brow at that. Just one. Then he shook his head, like he was disappointed. “Really? My father gave

you to me, remember?” he said, voice dropping just a little, enough to make the word “gave land like a punch to

the gut. “So you'll be whatever | want. And right now?”

He leaned forward again, his breath brushing my cheek. “Right now, | want you to be my tour guide,” he

finished, soft as sin.” So, where's the cafeteria, huh? I'm starving.”

Dear moon goddess, can | just kill him? | promise, it will be quick.

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